


ashen sky, lightning storms

by buttercuppoisoning



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Time Travel Fix-It, mostly jeralt and the lords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 17:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercuppoisoning/pseuds/buttercuppoisoning
Summary: When Byleth was a child, fighting alongside mercenaries, they never imagined that they would end up a professor at the most prestigious academy in the continent. Or that they would end up becoming a supreme leader of said continent. Or that they would end up watching all of their students die, one by one, unable to save everyone despite their best efforts.They never imagined that the hand guiding every swing of their sword would disappear. That one day, they would hear their father's voice the last time because of some conflict that they had never meant to get tangled up in.They never imagined that they'd be sending children into war and heaving back the weight of their corpses on their subconsciousness. But, then again, they never imagined they'd be able to turn back time to fix their mistakes either.They've seen every future, every possible outcome. They've seen everyone live and die. But no matter how many times they roll back the clock to save one of their precious students, it always seems like a life must be taken in their place....Fuck it. Let's try it all again.
Kudos: 12





	ashen sky, lightning storms

**Author's Note:**

> note: this whole thing contains spoilers for every route except silver snow because i havent played it

If time is contained within one grand cosmic hourglass, it is composed of pieces. Tens of thousands of tiny grains, mixing and twisting and fragmenting over again flipping and turning from their beginning to the end. If time is contained in the mass of one candle, it is composed of droplets. Pale wax rolls down itself, melting itself, solidifying itself, warping and changing until the puddle spills off of the table’s edges.

If time is a flower, it will bloom and wilt. The blossom will rise towards the sun and shy away into the dark, leaves curling, petals falling seeds whispering off into the wind while its essence mutates and multiplies.  
If time is the wind, it will never stop moving. A gentle tease primes the green earth for a zephyrous attack, ripping past like arrows through the sky, carrying all things to where they should be within the breeze of fate.  
If time is the moon, it will be lonely. In the soaring night horizon, that crescent will always remain, swinging on its celestial strings through the sea of stairs to always shed light upon the fractured whole that it came from, illuminating a fragile war.

But really, time is like a spinning top. A toy will keep going even as the flowers die, even as the wind rips away its lacquered coating, even if the moon goes dark forever. But after the winter is gone and the tornado is past and light peeks over the horizon, the top will lose momentum.  
Perhaps you will even stop it yourself, placing a finger or a few or your whole hand down on the wretched thing until it stops its infernal _klack-klack-klack-whizz_ and then you will spin it again, and again, and again, and again. Perhaps you will choose to spin it in the soft grass or the mantle or in front of the warmth of the fireplace, or it will be painted yellow or blue or red, or it will be left alone on its side until its owner returns to play. The toy is still the same, even with chips and marks. And yet, you spin it again hoping for a different result.

_Why?_ You have undoubtedly seen every side of the top! You stare at it and stare at it with your eyes all blank and hazed-over and perhaps you will change one little thing, but it always does the same thing! It’s always the same!  
You have seen every fragment and fracture and split, you have seen every last one of your students die and rise again, you have seen them wield every weapon and bear every coat of arms and defend with every shield. You have seen all of them wear that ring, elope with all of their friends, die for their country and choose to betray it! And yet, you are not satisfied! When will you stop playing this game of yours?!

“I mean, come _on!_” The pint-sized goddess finally raises her voice instead of talking through her mental link with Byleth, putting her hands on her hips and leaning down to meet at eye level with the sitting mercenary. Or perhaps the sitting professor. The sitting archbishop. The sitting grand ruler? The blade of their sword extends and retracts again, extends and retracts, and Sothis is fairly sure that the noise is going to drive her absolutely out of her mind. “You are always sitting here, humming that silly little song and whining about nothing going your way. And even when you do get up and do something, it’s not good enough for you. I know it is difficult, but even I do not have the patience to put up with all of your moping!”

Byleth stared down at the floor before the throne, hard, cold stone. Perhaps it was time that they settled on one edge of time instead of flipping it endlessly, turning it until their fingertips bled. Cementing one choice, one decision, however many lives taken and however many lives saved. The power imbued within their veins was only powerful enough to do so much precise rewinding before Byleth was instead forced to revert back to further marked points in time. The beginning of the fight, day, week, moon.  
Often, they found themselves going back several moons to try and achieve a future that would please them. For some matters, even _that_ wasn’t enough. So they woke up on that fateful morning, the sun unrisen in the sky, to a voice that wrapped around them soothingly.

_Hey. Time to wake up._  
Perhaps the words themselves weren’t so soothing, but it was a greater rush of joy every time, stronger than they had ever experienced before. The most satisfying part of winding back to the beginning was always seeing their father again. Despite everything, Jeralt’s death was the one thing that never changed, despite all of their efforts. Idly, they lift one hand to a lock of hair that they had braided and unbraided ever since the day they first watched him die. That was the first they had cried, back when they felt Jeralt’s pain so keenly as to feel pain in their heart as if it were the dagger in their chest, not his. And no matter what they did, they were unable to kill Kronya themselves in the end, nor could they save him.

Swallowed up by that suffocating darkness, Byleth was forced to literally imbue themselves with the power of a _goddess_ to escape. By that goddess’s will, even, despite knowing that it would cause her consciousness to meld completely with her host’s. So many times had they come precious centimeters away from dying, only for it to be averted. Yet another factor that seemed to be an unavoidable constant of time and fate-- their own survival. Forget attempting to sacrifice themselves to maintain peace between the three nations; Byleth was unsure if it were even possible.  
And perhaps it would be a little selfish. This was Sothis’s body as well, after all. Even putting all that aside, it’s entirely possible their death would do nothing but fuel the flames of conflict in a world that no longer has their knowledge of strategy to end the fighting. But perhaps if they died, leaving behind the knowledge they had-

“_Excuse me!_ Are you _ignoring_ me?! Me, the one who has saved your life who knows how many times!” Childishly, Sothis stomps her foot against the stone flooring and reaches down to yank the Sword of the Creator out of the mercenary’s hands, almost no force required. Despite her youthful appearance and Byleth’s nature as a vessel of her power, the goddess’s will still overcame Byleth’s own. That, at the very least, got their attention, unfocused eyes drifting upwards to meet hers, chiding and piercing green. “You do not understand. Maybe it’s because you like laying about in your own misery for hours on end, but I will not tolerate your _laziness!_”

Surprised, their eyes marginally widen. They hadn’t expected her scolding tone to evolve into one flavored with a hint of genuine anger. But it seems it still wasn’t enough to shock them out of their momentary grief-induced haze. So, like any normal mother (?) would do…  
Sothis lifted up the blade in her hands- so large that it almost dwarfed her entirely- and bonked it down on Byleth’s head.

“...Ow.” They winced slightly, a hand twitching up to protect the top of their head from another hit. Too many of those, and they might be faced with another concussion to fight through in the heat of battle. Looking satisfied with herself, Sothis leaned back with a huff. She seemed unsatisfied, but did not say anything more, so it briefly occurred to Byleth that there is something she desired that they were not doing. Yes, something they should be doing. It might be one of the things she had demanded earlier, but there were quite a few of those requests, and _‘stop moping’_ was always harder to accomplish than they anticipated.  
Experimentally, they stand up, shoulders hunched. Sothis’s lips curl up in delight, and she hands their beloved blade back to them.

“You are not going to sit around any longer. You will start a game, and you will end it, and you will stay there. Do you understand me?” All the authority in her voice was somewhat nullified by the sight of her standing up on her tip-toes to even come close to meeting their gaze. “I do not care if you miss your students or their retainers or their kingdom! There must be something that will satisfy you! And even if you must insist on trying to save everyone, you will not be able to do so unless you actually _change_ something.”

“Is this a motivational speech, or is it meant to discourage me?” Byleth’s voice is dry and soft, accompanied by a sarcastic raise of one eyebrow. The goddess groans in frustration, turning on her heel to stomp back up the stairs to her throne. Neither of them speak until she plonks herself down in the seat, cheek rested against her knuckles and lips set firmly in a pout.

Though satisfied that she’s finally getting some kind of response from the other, Sothis still looks rather irritated. Huff. “It is neither. I’m telling you that you must find _something_ to be satisfied with. This all must end somewhere. Or are you a foolish coward who neither has the will to get what they want, nor the courage to face disappointment?”

_Neither the will to get what they want, nor the courage to face disappointment. Not strong enough to strive for that perfect future, but not strong enough to accept one ending either… What nonsense._   
_ How do you kill an ancient dragon, become one of the greatest mercenaries in existence, destroy several armies on your own, overthrow an ancient evil, cheat death several times, and destroy the space time continuum all before letting a goddess call you a coward?_

“Okay,” Byleth says flatly after a long pause. Then there is a flash, and it is daybreak in Remire Village again.


End file.
